


The Gift

by johnsarmylady



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: And very little plot, Just to give it a bit of story, M/M, PWP, There's quite a bit of porn, Well - Freeform, actually it's PWILBOP, did i mention porn?, oh and an anniversary
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-19
Updated: 2015-11-19
Packaged: 2018-05-02 11:03:42
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,486
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5245940
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/johnsarmylady/pseuds/johnsarmylady
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When John goes missing Sherlock gets worried - but then on his return John wipes away all trace of the other man's fears. This started as PWP, but became PWALBOP</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Gift

**Author's Note:**

> I was trying for PWP - sadly I ended up with PWALBOP  
> Sorry!

The silence in the flat was deafening.

Sherlock had heard that expression many times, and scoffed at it just as often, yet when it came down to it he suddenly realised just how loud silence could be.

His hand reached out for his violin, then hesitated, fingers clenching as he withdrew; face twisting into lines of worry. John should have been home by now.

Sarah hadn’t seemed the least bit bothered when Sherlock had phoned to ask if John was working the afternoon surgery, not even when he had snarled at her about John’s mobile being turned off.  He had, she pointed out, the right to a personal life despite their relationship, even if Sherlock thought he should be there at his beck and call twenty four hours a day, then with a smile that he could hear in her voice she said goodbye and put the phone down on him – he was livid!

That had been nearly four hours ago. Two hours ago he had given in and called first Lestrade (no, he hadn’t seen John – yes, he would tell him if he did) then – with great reluctance – Mycroft. 

After his initial (feigned) surprise, the older Holmes brother had his minions check to see where John was and then, his surprise real this time, he had to confess that within half a mile of the surgery John had given the CCTV cameras the slip.

“It seems you have taught him too well brother.” Mycroft said quietly.

“Which way was he headed?”

“Towards Baker Street.”

That didn’t make Sherlock feel any better.  So far in the time they had been together, whenever someone had decided to kidnap John it had been close to home, where he felt relatively safe – it seemed John would never learn to be on his guard.  That thought alone brought to mind a conversation they had had one evening following an attempted kidnapping right outside Speedy’s...

_“John you really should be more aware of your surroundings. For a soldier you seem to have no sense of self-preservation!”_

_“Sherlock,” John replied, laughing. “It is enough to turn my hair grey, give me worry lines and generally put my heart under strain just trying to keep you in one piece – I refuse to add to the stress on my nerves by worrying every time I walk out of the door!”_

_“But John...”_

_“But nothing, Sherlock, the number of times I get jumped compared to the number of times I actually leave the flat and manage to arrive at my destination safely is relatively few – less than one percent.”_

_“3.8 percent.”_

_“Whatever – I’m not going to worry.” John said finally, his firm gaze telling the younger man that the conversation was closed._

Sherlock chewed his thumb, his other hand idly turning his phone over and over until his patience ran thin and the poor iPhone bounced off the wall and landed on the couch.

“What has your phone done to deserve that treatment?” A laughing voice said from the doorway.

“John!” Sherlock leapt to his feet and stalked across the room. “Where have you been?”

“Work.” John’s face was serenely blank.

In fact it was too blank for Sherlock’s liking, and he loomed closer.

“You left the surgery at one thirty – four and a half hours ago.”

John looked down at his clothes and shoes, then back up at Sherlock and frowned.

“You know that from just looking at me?”

The other man blinked – then sheepishly admitted

“No, I phoned Sarah.”

“Really?” Wide eyed, John began to chuckle, shrugging out of his jacket and hanging it next to Sherlock’s Belstaff.

“It’s not funny. I was worried.”

Still smiling, John reached up to brush an errant curl from Sherlock’s forehead before cupping his cheek.

“And it didn’t occur to you that bad news invariably travels fast? You would have known long before now if something had happened.”

Closing his eyes Sherlock leaned into the touch.

“I...”

“I know” John smiled. “Come with me – I have a present for you.”

He walked backwards, his hand never leaving the other’s face.  As they crossed the threshold of their bedroom Sherlock leaned in for a kiss.

The door closed softly behind them as John wasted no time reaching for the buttons on Sherlock’s favourite purple shirt, nimbly flicking them open as Sherlock tried unsuccessfully to drag John’s favourite oatmeal jumper over his head.

“Be still.” John laughed. “You’re like an octopus – arms all over the place! Let me do this first.”

“But I want...”

“And you shall have.” The doctor grinned, undoing the last button and pushing the soft material down Sherlock’s arms and letting it fall to the floor.

Freed from his shirt Sherlock grabbed the jumper and yanked it unceremoniously over John’s head. He allowed the doctor to remove his own shirt and t-shirt, choosing instead to slip his hands inside John’s jeans and...

“You’re not wearing any pants!” he said breathlessly.

“Nope.”

“Did you wear...?”

“Nope.”

“You mean you went to work...”

John waggled his eyebrows and grinned.

“What? Did you think I took them off somewhere on the way home?”

“John.” It was a whispered gasp, for as he had been speaking John had returned the favour, and was now palming Sherlock’s erection through his soft cotton boxers.

“Shut up.” It was laughingly said, and having said it John guided the taller man down to the bed, removing the rest of their clothes with minimum effort. “What would you like? No, don’t tell me, show me.”

Licking dry lips Sherlock lifted his hips and with one hand pushed Johns head downwards. John grinned.

“Oh, so that’s the preference today is it?” His eyes moving down to where his partners cock jutted, dark and hot, wanting and waiting. “Let’s see what we can do about it then.”

Sliding down and slotting neatly in between Sherlock’s legs, John nuzzled at the junction of his thigh and groin, licking a broad stripe along to his hip then nibbling his way back.

Sherlock groaned and tried to roll towards the wet heat, but was held firm by a single hand splayed across his belly. He leaned up on one elbow to watch his tormentor.

Back to nuzzling, John made sure he avoided the twitching erection as this time he snuffled through dark curls, tickling with his lips and pushing his face into springy, slightly frizzy mass.

“John, for God’s sake...”

John stopped. He lifted his head and stared at his other half. Sherlock stared back. John moved up and placed a finger on cupid bow lips.  Once he saw acceptance in the other’s eyes nothing more needed to be said, and he nodded and moved back down to tease once more.

Cupping warm balls in his hand, he decided it was time to lick another broad stripe, this time from root to tip, his tongue swirling around the swollen head, dipping in to taste the pre-come that threatened to spill, before in a single smooth move he lowered his head, engulfing as much of Sherlock as he could in wet heat, still holding him steady as he sucked hard and slow, allowing his teeth to scrape gently across inflamed flesh.

Sherlock’s bones melted and he collapsed, arms outstretched, his eyes rolling back in his head as he let out a series of whimpers and moans – nothing that John would have called verbal, just incredibly sexy, and John encouraged his partner to make more noises like it by speeding up, and then slowing down, sucking hard, and then barely at all, alternating between gently rolling his balls in his hand and then running a blunt fingernail across his perineum, until at last he could feel Sherlock tipping over the edge.

With an inarticulate cry Sherlock’s whole body tensed and then came explosively, almost choking John with the strength of his orgasm.

The doctor coughed and spluttered, laughing as Sherlock’s final ejaculations landed squarely in his face.

“Feel good?” He asked, grabbing a tissue and wiping the sticky mess from his grin-stretched cheeks.

Sherlock rolled his eyes and reached down for the other man, but his hand was batted away.

“We have a dinner date.” John informed him. “If you want to play with that...” his eyes dropped to his own still swollen cock. “You’ll have to come and play in the shower!”

Eagerly the pair moved into the bathroom, touching and kissing all the while as they turned on the taps and set the water temperature.

It never failed to amaze Sherlock how interesting John could make the act of mutual pleasure. Previous attempts at relationships had simply left him feeling bored, and his partners feeling frustrated that he didn’t fit into their view of ‘the norm’.

John wasn’t like that. He preferred to meet each challenge on his own terms, and in doing so had introduced Sherlock to an ever-changing landscape of lust – there was simply no way that the consulting genius could be bored, no two acts were the same.

And in the shower was no different.

Today John was happy to let Sherlock continue to decide how this would play out, other days he would be forceful and commanding, or pliant yet eager. And today Sherlock was happy to take advantage of the smaller man, trying his best to imitate John’s teasing hands, and succeeding in making him shout in the most pleasing manner as he came, clinging to Sherlock’s shoulders as his legs buckled under him.

xXx

Several satisfying kisses, and a leisurely wash later, John hurried them from the bathroom.

“What is this dinner date for?” Sherlock frowned.

John stared at him.

“Does the date mean nothing to you?” he asked, mock hurt spreading across his features.

Sherlock stared, his eyes widening.

“A year.” He breathed. “We’ve been lovers for a year.”

“So I thought we could go to Angelo’s to celebrate.”

The younger man pulled on his clean shirt with a grin.

“I thought we just did.”

“That was simply starters.” John checked his wallet and keys were in his jeans pocket, and then pulled on his boots. “You just wait until dessert...”

Hurrying down the stairs they opted to walk, much as they did that very first night, and as they have on many an occasion since, moving shoulder to shoulder through the darkening streets, finally reaching their destination where they were greeted by the jovial Italian.

“Sherlock, John! Happy anniversary!” he waved expansively towards their favourite table in the window. There was a candle already lit, and a package on the table in front of Sherlock’s usual seat.

With a puzzled glance Sherlock sat, and ran his slender fingers over the plain blue wrapping paper.

“Open it.” John smiled, his eyes alight with anticipation.

Flicking a glance towards Angelo’s retreating back, Sherlock returned his attention to the gift.

“I haven’t bought anything for you.” He said quietly, looking a little uncomfortable.

“I don’t expect anything.” John’s response was immediate and sincere. “In truth, if I hadn’t spotted that a few weeks ago then this meal would have been all the gift you received.”

A slight blush stroked its way across sharp cheekbones.

“Oh, I wouldn’t say that.”

“Git – you know what I mean. I just saw that and thought of you. That’s where I was today, getting that, wrapping it and bringing it here.”

While John spoke Sherlock was carefully removing the tape that was holding the parcel together. Using just the tips of his fingers he unfolded the wrapping paper, his eyes narrowing as it revealed what was obviously a book, protected by acid-free tissue, the kind specialist book sellers used for old and valuable books.

John held his breath as the last of the tissue was moved aside.

Sherlock swallowed, blinked rapidly, and swallowed again.

“The Apiary.” He read, picking up the leather bound first edition and stroking the much handled but well looked after cover, his fingers tracing the gold leaf lettering.

“Is it okay?”  John wasn’t sure how to read his lover’s expression, but he needn’t have worried.

Sherlock’s face lit up with a dazzling smile – not the forced curl of his lips that most people were treated to, but a genuinely delighted expression that only John was honoured to receive.

“It’s more than okay.”

xXx

“Dessert?”  John asked several hours later as they lay in each other’s arms, naked and warm. His hand slid down to sweep gently over Sherlock’s belly, smiling at the small bump that he had laughingly referred to as his lover’s ‘food baby’.

Sherlock had tried to be cross about the nickname, but when John started to press little kisses across his pale skin his mind skittered and skidded off line.

Now John was looking up at him with his impossibly blue eyes dark with desire, waiting for an answer.

“What did you have in mind?”

“I want to take you apart…”

“Do it!” Sherlock challenged.

And John reached for the lube.

Lifting Sherlock’s hips John placed a pillow under them, allowing him access while still letting him look his fill at the younger man.

Squeezing a generous amount of the thick viscous liquid onto his fingers the doctor knelt between Sherlock’s spread knees, and without taking his eyes from the other man’s face he gently teased at the tight ring of muscle, working his way in with first one finger, then as Sherlock’s body warmed and stretched he added another, then a third.

When the younger man was ready, boneless and pliant, John slicked his cock with more lube before withdrawing his digits and thrusting in, burying himself to the hilt, shuddering at Sherlocks muscles twitched and clenched around him.

Drawing in a deep breath John started to move, slowly at first, then picking up the pace, driven by the moans and cries wrenched from Sherlocks lips, the younger man rocking up to meet each thrust, gasping as John’s hand closed around him to stroke in time to the movement of his hips.

Sweat beaded Sherlock’s forehead as he lay, wide eyed with plump lips parted over panting breaths.

“God look at you, you are gorgeous.” John whispered reverently. “How the fuck did I ever get so bloody lucky?”

Sherlock didn’t – couldn’t – answer. He reached up and tugged at John’s good shoulder, pulling him down, capturing his mouth with a heated kiss and sending the doctor’s control spiralling away and he thrust deeply, driving them both over the edge with a wordless cry.

Gentle hands wiped the mess of their activities from pale skin with a clutch of tissues, the tossed them towards the bin not caring that they missed and landed somewhere on the carpet behind it.

John pulled Sherlock into his arms and covered them both with the duvet, stroking and soothing the younger man’s well used muscles, settling them comfortably for sleep.

And as sleep was gently overtaking him John heard the softest of whispers.

“Happy anniversary John.”

 

**Author's Note:**

> A/N: The full title of Sherlock's new book is The Apiary or Bees, Bee-Hives and Bee Culture by Alfred Neighbour, published in London circa 1866


End file.
